Under the mistletoe, p.8
Under the Mistletoe, page 8
They were at the lodge. And everyone was standing there in the doorway, beckoning them inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Samantha was crouched over her iPad, typing away furiously. She wanted to stop and make a spreadsheet to see how much work it would take to get this book written in five days, but she didn’t have the time to count. Instead, she did the math in her head. She knew vaguely that she could do three thousand words an hour for about two hours each day. That meant she could get to thirty thousand words in five days. That left her fifteen thousand words short. If she pushed for an extra hour, which would be tough, she could just make it in time; though one of those days she was meant to be traveling back to Texas and she never wrote well on travel days. That could be her editing day if she pushed and did yet another hour of writing each day, but would her brain be capable of producing that many words?
She shook her head and put her nose back down to her keyboard. She didn’t have time to think about any of this.
The door to the cabin swung open, bringing with it a gust of icy air. The sun was starting to set behind the mountain and it was getting dark, even though dinner wouldn’t be for another couple of hours. If only Samantha could push harder today and get five hours of writing in, it could set the tone for the next few days.
“Not now!” Samantha said, holding up her hand. “I’ve got a deadline to meet.”
Nobody responded as the door clicked shut.
Samantha’s glasses had slid down her nose. She pushed them up with one finger and saw Gia with her back turned, unloading her pack onto the bed. She saw Gia’s back rise and fall quickly, as if she were holding in her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Samantha asked, taking off her glasses and placing them on the desk. “Gia?”
Gia spun around. There were tears streaking her cheeks, which were still pink from the cold.
“What happened?” Samantha took her in her arms, Gia’s body shaking as she collapsed against her.
“I-I-I-I w-w-w-ent to c-c-c-critique,” Gia stammered.
“Oh. Oh no,” Samantha said soothingly, pulling Gia off her and wiping the tears from her face. “Why on earth would you do that?”
Gia bit her trembling lip and Samantha led her over to the fireplace, setting her gently on one of the armchairs. She eyed the fire; Samantha knew it needed rebuilding but she wasn’t in the mood to do something she was terrible at doing.
She handed Gia a packet of tissues from her own pocket and sat down in the chair opposite. “Tell me what happened.”
“I went with Max and Carla. I tried to sneak away from them but it didn’t work.” Gia took a deep breath. “I passed around my computer and… and—” Gia dissolved into fresh, wracking sobs.
Samantha leaned forward and rubbed her back. “You did better than I did at my first critique. I had an MFA teacher tell me that I should never write so much as an email again.”
A smile broke through Gia’s tears. “You’re kidding!”
“I’m not. It was humiliating. I left the program and never looked back. Whatever happened with yours, it can’t be that bad.”
“They said it was amateurish and formulaic,” Gia said quietly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “And commercial.”
Samantha grinned at her. “Is that all? That’s brilliant!”
“It is?”
“Listen. People love formulas. Formulas sell. I don’t want to read a romance that isn’t formulaic. What would that even mean? No happy ending? No sex scenes? Cheating? No, thank you. I want a love story between two imperfect people, sex, and a happily ever after. And that’s what readers want.”
“Thank you,” Gia sniffled. “Even if you’re just saying that.”
“I make my living doing this. That’s what you want to do as well, right? Make a living?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Well, then stick to the formula. Half those people in that room haven’t written more than two books in their entire careers.”
“Todd is a New York Times bestselling author,” Gia objected. “He was the first one who said it was crap.”
Samantha waved her words away. “That means nothing. I know plenty of NYT bestselling authors who still have to work day jobs to support themselves and write in the wee hours of the morning before their kids get up. Not throwing shade on them, I’m just saying: commercial sells. Todd has written one book in ten years. He knows nothing about true commercial viability or success.” She paused.
“What?”
“You want me to read it?”
Gia gaped at her. “Are you serious? Do you even read lesbian romance?”
“I’ve read my fair share,” Samantha said playfully. “But also I am a lesbian, so I’m technically your target audience.” She stood up and stepped across to Gia, straddling her lap and kissing her lips. “Don’t you think?”
Gia’s lips were wet with salty tears. Samantha kissed them away. They fell into bed together once again.
***
Samantha glanced at her watch as Gia pulled her bra back on.
“You have a date?” Gia asked with a smile playing at her lips.
“I’m sorry; my publisher moved my deadline up by a month,” Samantha said. “I’ve got at least four more hours work to do today if I’m going to get a good start.”
“When is the deadline?”
“Monday,” Samantha sighed, pulling her clothes back on as she crossed the cabin.
“This Monday?” Gia asked, her jaw dropping.
“Yep.”
Gia stared at her, clearly lost in thought.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I want to do it with you.”
“Do what?”
“Finish a book in four days.”
Samantha laughed. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Look, you’re the one who says to publish early and often. I need to do this. I need the money. I need to know if I can make this a viable thing. I’ve been drowning in composition notebooks for five years on the same story. Meeting you…” she trailed off.
“Meeting me what?”
Gia picked at her thumbnail. “Meeting you inspired me to start a new story. A better one. I think this could be my first real book. And I want to do it with you.”
“I’ve written—” Samantha stopped short of saying the actual number lest Gia connect the dots between her and Ava Hillary. “—a lot of books. A lot. I know I can do this because I’ve done a book in ten days. It’s different for me.”
Gia had a defiant look in her brown eyes. “Are you telling me that I can’t do it?”
“I’m not saying that—”
Gia stood up and plucked her laptop from the side table, setting it down on the desk. “I’ll race you. Fifty thousand words.” She opened the computer. “We can tag team who gets up to get meals and bring them back here, alright? Make an excuse for Rick. Tell him what’s really happening; that we’re busy writing.”
“What’s your word count so far?”
Gia’s tongue peeked out from between her lips. She looked so adorable Samantha wanted to take her back to bed. She clicked through her computer document. “I’m at six thousand words.”
“It’s not really fair. I’m at fifteen thousand.”
Gia grinned. “I’ve always liked a challenge.”
“This is nuts, Gia!” Samantha said with a chuckle. “You cannot be serious.”
“You scared of having your ass handed to you by some nobody?”
Samantha gaped at her. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Then let’s race.”
She laughed. “Love doesn’t wait for life after all,” Samantha muttered, beginning to type rapidly on her mechanical keyboard.
Gia looked up. “What did you just say?”
“Love doesn’t wait for life. It’s… something I say.”
“That’s from an Ava Hillary book.”
Samantha blanched. “Is it?” Her voice was several octaves higher than normal.
“Yeah.”
Samantha shrugged, patting the bun of braids on top of her head. “It’s just a silly line. Forget it.”
Gia closed her laptop partially. “No, you’re not getting away that easily. You never said you’d read any of her books.”
Samantha knew Gia wasn’t going to drop this easily or quickly. “Look, I might have picked up a paperback once a long time ago. I’m a writer. I pick up things. My brain is sticky like that, always looking for lines or story ideas.”
Gia looked skeptical but appeased for the immediate moment. “Alright. Ready?”
“Get set.”
“Go!”
The two women dove into their keyboards.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Gia skipped to the lodge around dinner time two days later, a tray of clanking dishes in her hands. It was her turn to pilfer food from the platters there and make excuses for her and Samantha. The first night, Rick looked murderous when she’d explained why she was taking the food, but she’d gotten around him when Max stepped in on her behalf.
She still owed Max for that.
The snow had largely melted, leaving the mulch walkways pitted with puddles covered in thin, easily broken layers of ice. The cloudy and cold day had turned into a blustery night. It seemed like snow was in the air, but Gia couldn’t be certain. She hadn’t exactly been coming out for weather reports from Rick.
She followed her nose to the dining room, where only a few of the usual writers were assembled. She tipped the tray onto the table in the corner and picked up a fresh one, placing two empty plates from the table on top.
“Where is everyone?” Gia asked Carla, who was sulking over her plate, barely picking at the cranberry sauce and chicken salad assembled there.
“They’ve all taken to their cabins thanks to you two.” She didn’t have her usual lilting, questioning voice, which Gia knew was a bad sign.
“Why are you so upset about it?”
“I have no one to talk to.”
Gia didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t the most expressive person under the best circumstances, but two days shut inside doing nothing but typing and occasionally stopping to make out with Samantha had taken her even further outside her usual extrovert game.
“Well, I’m sure at critique you’ll find your voice again,” Gia said sharply, piling a plate with sandwiches. The words were a little harsher than she’d intended, but she was having a hard time feeling guilty considering how much Carla had eviscerated her book only a few days before.
Carla picked up on it. “Are you still upset about that? Get over it. It’s just a critique. We’ve all been there.”
Gia grabbed two bottles of iced water and grimaced. “Thanks for your unwavering support, Carla.” She flounced out of the lodge, narrowly dodging Rick by ducking down a side path to her cabin. She shivered in the cold air, trying to calm and focus her mind back towards her writing. She’d made a ton of progress over the last two days, but she had a nagging feeling Samantha was going to beat her. She reminded herself to set an alarm to wake up at five a.m. tomorrow. She could get a head start that way.
“Gia!” Max called out from their cabin porch, a yellow legal pad in their hands.
“I gotta get back!” she said quickly.
But Max jumped up and jogged off the porch, stopping in front of her on the path. “I haven’t seen you since critique.”
“Yeah, I wonder why that is?” Gia asked sarcastically.
Max looked wounded. “I told you I liked your stuff. I wasn’t lying.”
Gia exhaled. They were telling the truth. “I know. I’m sorry to take it out on you. I’m still feeling a little tender from all of it, to be honest.”
“Everyone was brutal on you. I don’t blame you. I don’t think my work could survive it.”
“But you shared!”
Max laughed. “You think I shared my new stuff? No. I always bring throwaway work to those things.”
“Then why do you even go?”
“Socialization. I get a little tetchy when I’m holed up by myself for too long. It’s a proactive thing on my part. Plus, I love watching people interact with each other. Gives me material for my stories.”
Gia grinned. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Samantha and I are engaged in a competition of the wills right now; we’re trying to finish our books by Monday.”
“A write off!” Max said appreciatively, running a hand through their silver grey hair that was reflecting in the newly risen moon. “I’ve done that before. But I never had the benefit of recreational activities between writing sessions with my partner.”
“Stop it!” Gia said, blushing.
“Alright, alright. Get back to work, you little lovebird. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Bye, Max.”
Gia headed down the poorly lit path; she hadn’t been on this route before and was having trouble missing the rocks embedded in the mulch. She stubbed her toe on a particularly pointed one and gasped, the pain shooting up through her leg. Stars sparkled across her eyes as they watered.
Gia heard a voice up the path. It was a woman. She listened more closely. It was Samantha. She was on the phone.
“…Dan, I know. I know.”
A man’s voice echoed through the little clearing; it was slightly garbled and tinny through the iPhone’s tiny speaker. “You always do this, Samantha.”
Gia knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but her writerly curiosity was getting the better of her. She tiptoed a little closer, holding the plates down with her thumbs so they wouldn’t slide and clank together on the plastic tray.
“Dan, I do not.”
“You do, Sam. Always. You need inspiration for a book? You go out and find a woman. You’re a serial monogamist. Why do you think this book took so long to come out? You had no one. Now you have her.”
“It’s not like that—”
“Mm. Sure it isn’t. How’s that book coming along?” Dan asked sarcastically. “Great, isn’t it? The words just flying out of your fingers?”
Samantha didn’t reply.
Gia shifted her weight and a twig snapped under her snow boots. “Shit,” she muttered.
“Dan, I’ll call you later.” The glow of Samantha’s phone disappeared into her pocket. “Hello?”
Gia was still cursing to herself as she stepped into the moonlit, partially snow-covered path. “It’s me. Sorry to interrupt.”
“What did you hear?” Samantha asked, clearly trying to keep her voice even.
“Enough,” Gia said, her voice hearty, like she was trying to swallow emotion.
“Gia—”
“Don’t,” she replied harshly, pushing past Samantha on the path. “I’m glad you finally got a cell signal out here. Must be a relief to check in with your friends who worry about your writing career above everything else.” Gia spun around and shoved one of the plates in Samantha’s face. “I recommend you take this back to the dining room and eat there. I don’t want to see you.”
“Gia, please. It’s not like that, I promise I wasn’t using you—”
Gia laughed darkly. “Oh really? Because it sounds to me like you got what you needed out of me. A story. Inspiration for you to go make some money. And I’ll be discarded when you need another one in a month or so, right? You know what, Samantha? I hope your book bombs.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Samantha returned to the cabin later that evening when she was sure Gia would be asleep in bed. But as she stepped inside, the fire dying miserably beyond the hearth, Samantha knew she was alone.
Sure enough, Gia’s bunk was cleared off, her backpack packed up. The only thing on the mattress was the shiny MacBook Pro, a note attached to it.
“I printed off what I need.”
That was it. There was no farewell, no goodbye, no words to indicate that what had happened to them had been anything more than a fleeting fever dream.
She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“You have everything?” Max asked Gia two days later, on Sunday morning. The sky was gloomy with no promise of snow. She breathed in the crisp Denver air for the last time. Airplanes boomed overhead as they took off and landed at the airport.
“Yeah,” she said, patting her backpack.
“You have my email, right? Write me when you land.”
“Of course,” Gia replied. “I’m off to my frozen wasteland.”
“And I’m back to New York,” Max said. “At least I get to see my partner and my dogs.”
“I didn’t know you had a partner,” Gia said.
“You never asked.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. “I think I’ve been a bit of a bad, selfish friend. I’m sorry.”
Max hugged her. “Don’t worry about it. I expect you to listen to my emotional Christmas rants about my dysfunctional family without judgment as payment.”
“Deal,” Gia said, laughing. “Bye, Max. Merry Christmas.”
“I expect you in New York next year for the romance conference!”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Gia replied.
“And I’ll email you my cover designer’s info. She’s quick. She can have a cover done for you in the span of five days.”
“My book isn’t quite done.”
“You’re telling me you slept on my floor the last two days writing in composition books at all hours of the day or night and your book isn’t done? Bullshit. It is done,” Max said. “Transcribe it into a computer. Give it one quick glance-over this week and hit publish before the fifteenth. Then get going on your next one and don’t ever look back.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Max.”
“Dysfunctional family emails!” Max reminded her. “That’s how you’ll repay me.”
Gia waved Max goodbye as they walked to the other terminal. She hefted her backpack onto her shoulder and stepped into the bustling terminal done up with Christmas lights.
She was going home, a completed book in hand. It was beyond her wildest expectations and dreams.
